


The Path of Madness

by niichanberg



Category: Mad Father
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Gen, Insanity, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niichanberg/pseuds/niichanberg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya Drevis is living happily as she continues her father's work of 'preserving beauty'. But when the blonde youth returns from the dead and confronts Aya about the path she's chosen, she's forced to call into question the life she wants to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Birthday, Dr. Drevis

**Author's Note:**

> Mad Father is easily one of my favorite Indie games, particularly because of its rich storyline, and the fact that it makes you question who you love and who you hate several times over the course of the story.
> 
>  
> 
> I plan on this being a relatively short fic, maybe only two or three chapters at the most. I’m estimating, of course, that that’s all I’ll need to completely tell the story. We’ll see, though.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fanfiction. But whether you liked it or not, please do give me your thoughts! I’d love to know what you think! Thanks, lovelies~

**CHAPTER ONE:  
Happy Birthday, Dr. Drevis**

As the orange rays of the setting sun drifted through the open windows of the small clinic, Aya Drevis sat in her bedroom, sitting comfortably in an aged rocking chair, daintily sipping a cup of tea that Maria had prepared for her. She was happy. No, happy did not do her feelings justice. She was ecstatic. Exuberant. Jubilant. Amongst other things.

 

Today was her eighteenth birthday. And, as a present, Maria had gone out earlier to purchase some material to create an absolutely beautiful new dress. Not for Aya, of course, but rather, her doll. Future doll, really. For today was the day she received one. A girl by the name of Josephine would be stopping by that evening for treatment for her respiratory issues. She would be stopping by shortly, actually, Aya noted. She hummed as she rose and set her teacup and saucer on a nearby nightstand. Her indigo eyes scanned the room. She sighed, then turned to leave her bedroom, pausing slightly to ghost her pale fingertips over the worn red cover of the old book that once belonged to her father: The New Text of Anatomy. Sure, she may have been slightly afraid of it when she had been much, much younger, but as she matured, she had grown much more fond of the book. It had taught her more than she could’ve ever dreamt of learning on her own. 

 

The girl left the room to see her father’s former assistant walk through the front door of the clinic, a woven basket on her arm. And in that basket, was a lovely cobalt fabric that, from Aya’s point of view, appeared similar to silk. Along with the primary set of material, there were other, smaller rolls of various laces and things of that sort. Maria set the basket on the table of the kitchen and smiled at Aya. “Are they to your liking, Mistress?” she inquired politely. Although Aya had insisted it wasn’t necessary, Maria had never ceased calling her ‘Mistress’ after leaving the mansion. Old habits die hard, Aya supposed.

 

The young woman smiled in return at the feeling of the soft blue material. “Yes, very much so, Maria. Thank you,” she said in answer, with equal politeness. Although on the surface, Maria appeared to be fond enough of her, Aya couldn’t help but wonder if that was how she truly felt, or if her feelings were different. However, she hadn’t broached the subject. Yet. That could wait, she decided. Today was supposed to be about happy things. 

 

“Josephine will be arriving any minute now, Mistress. Shall I prepare the necessary materials?” inquired the maid.

 

“Oh yes, thank you, Maria. That would be best,” answered Aya. Maria turned and vanished into the spacious room that actually was the Drevis clinic. At once, Aya was struck with a familiar urge. It began as a small pulsing in the back of her skull, but it gradually escalated to a full-scaled headache. She turned on her heels and hurried back into her bedroom. She needed to see the pictures again. 

 

Aya snatched the red book right off of her desk and flipped open to a random page. There, in the center of the page on the left, was a beautiful photograph of a body in the process of being dissected. It was breathtaking. At once, her headache receded, sated by the intake of these images. Smiling dreamily, she flipped through her favorite book, pausing every so often to gaze fondly down at a picture. Yes, her father’s line of work was indeed the best path for her to walk upon...

 

Suddenly, she frowned, but she did not close the book. Her father himself would not have wanted this, she knew. He wanted her to remain unsullied by such things. But Aya loved her father with all her heart, and although he would be displeased by the path she had chosen, she cared more about preserving her father’s legacy. Continuing his line of work kept him alive in her heart, and that was what really mattered to her. Her countenance was graced with a serene smile once more, and she closed the book and replaced it back on the desk. 

 

Thinking of her father always led her mind back to the events of her previous life, as the young child of the Drevis household. She thought again of the subjects whose lives her father had taken, and how happy it had made him that he was doing it for the sake of beauty, even if the subjects hadn’t seen it that way. 

 

And thinking of the subjects led her thoughts back to one in particular: the golden-haired youth who had saved her and Maria from being killed by her father. One of the only regrets Aya had was never learning her savior’s name. It would only have been polite to thank him by name, after all. She oftentimes wondered about that boy, and every so often, she would explore the possibility of him still being around after setting fire to the mansion. But then, she realized that that notion was impossible; the curse had worn off, and so there was no possible way that he could still have remained ‘alive’, so to speak. No way at all.

 

Aya sighed. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if the boy still were around. And sometimes, admittedly, she found herself wishing she knew just a bit more about the mysterious, nameless youth who’d saved her life...

 

The young woman stood up straighter. No time to keep musing like this. She had to switch over to her ‘doctor’ mentality. She smiled again. There was nothing more exciting than making your own birthday present, just how you wanted it, too-

 

_Aya._

 

The raven-haired young woman looked up in surprise. Had she just heard a... voice in her head? She shook her head, dark locks shifting out of place as she did so.She then decided to leave her bedroom to see how Maria was coming along with the preparations. She took a step forward, already trying to disregard the supposed ‘voice’. It was probably just all in her imagination-

 

_Stop this, Aya._

 

Aya stopped abruptly in the doorway and whirled back around to see if someone else was in the room with her, although this was a ridiculous notion; no one else lived there but her and Maria. As she had expected, the room was void of people. Snowball munched on some leaves in his bed in the corner, and if Aya had been any more childish, she would have drafted the wild assumption that Snowball had been speaking to her. But she was too old for such implausible ideas. She decided to ignore the voice, at that point. She had no reason to heed it if she didn’t know to whom it belonged.

 

_Please, Aya... Stop the madness..._

The young woman stayed true to her resolution for the time being and turned back on her heels and began to make her way to the operating room. But the voice was not done, it seemed. It returned with a newfound fury, in a tone so loud and authoritative that the shocked Aya nearly jumped right out of her pale skin.

 

_LISTEN TO ME, AYA._

 

Now, she was thoroughly frightened. She leaned against the wall and gripped the sides of her head with her hands. Aya decided, at last, to try and reason with this voice, since it would not leave of its own accord, obviously.

 

_Who are you?_ she tentatively thought these words, directed at the anonymous voice.

 

_Aya, please, you can’t do this... Not again..._

 

Growing slightly frustrated, she decided to attempt a more demanding approach. _I asked, who are you?!?_

 

_They never wanted you to turn out this way, Aya..._

 

Irritation growing exponentially with each dodged question of hers, Aya clenched her fists and bit her lip. She then tried to revert back to a calmer tone. _Please just tell me who you are!_

 

_I’m coming for you, Aya. Just wait for me, please. I’ll be there soon. Please don’t hurt that girl. You can’t travel any farther down your father’s path..._

 

Aya would most definitely have responded, yet there was a feeling deep inside her that told her that even if she did, the voice would not answer again. 

 

She massaged her temples in an attempt to clear her mind. She absolutely had to before she began her treatment of little Josephine, or else, something could go wrong, and her doll would be ruined, as would her birthday. She would not have that. 

 

At last, she made it to the operation room. Maria had dutifully prepared all of her tools and other necessary materials on a table. The maid looked up from straightening the tools as Aya entered the large room. “Mistress, are you well? You seem pale,” she commented. Aya smiled reassuringly. 

 

“I am fine,” she insisted. “Just excited, you know? I mean, Jean made a very lovely doll, but she was hardly birthday present material. I’m just so happy that I’m receiving a doll so special today.”

 

Maria nodded understandingly, a small smile shaping her cherry lips as well. “You become more and more like your father every day, Mistress,” she said, then went back to her task. 

 

Aya’s smile faltered for just a mere moment. Normally, she would have taken such a comment for a compliment. But for some reason, Maria’s words made her feel... different. Slightly... sick. This sensation frightened her, though she tried not to let it show. She was trying to wrap her mind around it. Why would something that used to make her feel good about herself now make her feel sick, of all things? It just didn’t make any sense...

 

She was drawn from her deep thoughts by Maria’s soft voice. “I believe that Josephine should have arrived by now...” she noted. Aya paled slightly. 

 

“Maybe she’s just running late. It happens...” she replied weakly, trying to convince herself rather than Maria that this was the case. If her doll didn’t show up to the appointment... her birthday would be ruined. Today was supposed to be special. Meaning, nothing could go wrong. 

 

Suddenly feeling weary, Aya wandered out of the room and into the kitchen, where she sat in a chair, lacking her usual ladylike grace. She propped her elbows up on the table before her and massaged her temples with her hands, her hands that had rapidly grown clammy with her nervousness. _She’s just running late, she’s just running late, she’s just running late..._ Aya repeated the mantra in her head, trying to regulate her breathing and slow her pulse. But she knew that there was no way to calm herself down until she knew for sure that her patient, her birthday present, was going to make it. 

 

She jerked her head up as the door to the clinic burst open loudly. Aya rose immediately and began to make her way towards to door to greet her patient, although she wondered vaguely why Josephine had opened the door in such a harsh fashion. But she froze when she saw who it really was that had come through the door, and it was not her patient.

 

It was the boy.

 

The one who’d saved her life all those years ago. 

 

He was there.

 

_Alive._

 

Aya was speechless. Her mind seemed to cease all thought process, and all she could do was stand there, frozen, and look at the boy- no, the young man who stood before her. The side of his face on her left was wrapped up in stark white bandages, as it always had been. His other eye, however, held an emotion that she’d never dreamt she’d see on him: anger. Her mouth fell slightly agape, and suddenly, her formerly blank mind was awhirl with questions. Why is he here? Wasn’t he dead before? How is he still ali-

 

Her thoughts were interrupted as the youth reached out and seized her by both of her shoulders, and there was nothing she could do about it in her shocked state. And then, he spoke in a low, frighteningly familiar tone.

 

“Aya,” he said simply, and the young woman recognized his voice immediately as the one that had invaded her head before. 

 

She tried to speak through her hazy thoughts. “You...” He said nothing in response, but held her gaze with his own eye, looking deep, as if he were staring into her very soul. A shiver travelled down Aya’s spine. “You’re supposed to be... dead...”

 

Before the youth could say anything in response, Maria suddenly appeared. “Mistress, who-” She cut herself off once she analyzed the situation. It appeared that she, too, recognized the blonde, for the surprise quickly faded from her emerald eyes and she said, quietly, “It is you...”

 

The young man carried on as if Maria had said nothing at all, every one of his words directed at Aya and Aya alone. “I’ve come here... to...” He paused and shook his head vigorously. For the first time, Aya realized that he was panting, as though he’d just run a very long way... which she didn’t doubt. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the blonde continued.

 

“Th... that girl you were going to... to treat... she...” He paused to take a very deep breath. “She’s dead.”

 

Aya’s eyes widened. “No... but... but... how...” She paled even more, and felt herself begin to sway on her feet, but the young man’s grip held firm, supporting her.

 

“I went to find her before coming here. I wanted to convince her not to come, but by the time I found her, she...” He shook his head again, though with less vigor. “She was just dead. I don’t know how. I swear.” he added, as if he thought Aya would not believe him. Which she was half inclined to do. 

 

Sadness overtook her features as it slowly sank in that her birthday was ruined. Her present would never be hers. “No... but... today was supposed to be... I was supposed to... no...”

 

She continued to mutter to herself, and the blonde youth said nothing for a long moment, before he spoke again, a dark, serious gentleness to his voice. “Aya, listen to me...” When the dark-haired girl raised her eyes to look at him once again, he went on. “Your mother... she wished for me to find you again.”

 

This immediately distracted Aya from her sorrow. “Mother...? Why...?”

 

That frustrated glint from before returned to his good eye, and Aya blinked curiously. “Because...” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You’ve gone mad, Aya! Just like your father!” Before she could say anything, he went on, his voice rife with frustration, and, to Aya’s surprise, sorrow. “Can’t you see? Can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re turning out just like him.”

 

And then, she interjected, a frown marring her beautiful features. “I know that!” The blonde was speechless, and Aya took advantage of the silence. “I want to be just like Father!” She lowered her voice, but kept her tone firm. “I like walking this path. Father was a good man, he was just misunderstood. Carrying on doing what he did keeps him all the more alive to me!”

 

The boy fixed her with a dumbfounded look, as though he could not process what she just said. “Aya... Neither of your parents wanted you to turn out like this! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!” 

 

Aya scowled indignantly, an expression upon her face that was most unlike her. “This is how it’s supposed to be! I’m preserving beauty, just like Father used to!” Her voice gradually softened as she went on. “I do love Mother, but she can’t deny me my future like Father wanted to. I know that she would understand.”

 

The boy went silent again, but it was a different kind of silence this time; a dark, frustrated silence, brimming with tension. And then, his grip on her shoulders tightened considerably. “Aya, do you remember what you promised me?” The young woman narrowed her eyes. Where was he going with this...?

 

He went on. “You promised me that you would never forget your father’s victims. And look what you’re doing, Aya!” he exclaimed, voice taut with emotion. “You’re doing just what he did! Did the people he killed mean nothing to you?" Aya's indigo gaze slowly drifted to the ground. "You're acting like the lives lost didn't matter at all... Here you are, killing and creating those things just like he used to..."

 

"I burned down that mansion," he continued, expression tinged with regret. "to prevent this from happening, just as she wished, but..." Aya's widened eyes snapped back up to the boy, lips parted slightly. The blonde furrowed his brows and narrowed his eye. "...But for what?!? If you're only going to turn out the same as that man..."

 

"Stop it!" the young woman exclaimed. "Stop talking as if Father was a bad man! He wasn't! He wasn't! He wasn't..." She trailed off, and a spark of sympathy flashed through the youth's eyes. 

 

"Aya," he murmured, looking her right in the eyes. "I'm here on your mother's wish to set you on the right path." Determination shone proudly in his good eye. "I'm not going away until I do. Believe that." 

 

And with that, the undead boy released Aya's shoulders and walked right past her and Maria, disappearing around a corner. Aya unconsciously bit her lip and looked out a nearby window, focusing on the rays of light emanated by the evening sun. 

 

She was afraid, she realized with a start. A cold dread had taken a hold of her limbs when it finally clicked that, with the arrival of this figure from her past, she may be forced to reconsider the path she'd chosen.


	2. End the Madness, Dr. Drevis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all going to hate me but  
> I completely forgot I hadn't put up the last two chapters on AO3  
> So I will be doing that today  
> Please forgive me, and enjoy the fic!

After the confrontation of the blonde-haired youth, Aya, without saying a word to Maria, turned and left, staccato steps leaving sharp echoes down the dim hallway. The maid watched this with dismay, not missing her Mistress’s dark, yet blank expression as she did so. Knowing that there was nothing she could do to ease Aya’s somber mood, Maria only inclined her head slightly, turning her emerald gaze to the worn wooden floor, and whispered, “Happy Birthday, Mistress,” if only to grant herself some small form of the illusion that she could help in any way. 

 

Meanwhile, the young Drevis girl was preoccupied with her own thoughts, which were rapidly swirling about her mind in a complicated mental tempest. She decided, hazily, to barricade herself in her bedroom until her raging mind calmed itself. The door locked with a click, and Aya sank into the soft embrace of her bed, finally deciding to dissect the information that had been oh-so-suddenly dumped on her.

 

Her future doll was dead. That certain tidbit of information almost made the young woman want to crawl up under her bed and wallow in her despair in the dark. Her birthday had been ruined, in her opinion. She’d so looked forward to this new doll, this lovely new doll, but she’d been cheated. Aya’s features shifted to accommodate a small frown, and she furrowed her slim eyebrows. Cheated, yes, that was the word. Her present had been taken so suddenly, so cruelly, away from her. And there was nothing she could’ve done to stop it. At least, that’s what she told herself. 

 

Aya decided to turn her thoughts to the icing on her birthday cake of shocked despair: the golden-haired boy from the depths of her memory, the one who’d saved her from her father, had returned. About this, she was unsure what to think. She knew that she should probably be ecstatic that he had risen once more, but instead she felt a cold dread where her light-hearted happiness should have been. It was for one reason, one reason she knew very well, and one reason that the boy hated stated so clearly. He wanted to change her, to change her path. He wanted to take away the last bit of father that she had left. Aya’s frown slowly blossomed into a full-fledged scowl, an expression so unfit for her dollish face. There was no way she was going to allow the boy to ruin the life she was happy with. No way. Even if it made her mother sad... her mother just didn’t understand what doing this meant to her, Aya supposed. To her, it was more than just allowing her father’s former lifestyle to envelop her and corrupt her with its dark tendrils. It was keeping a part of him with her, the part that it seemed he loved the most about himself. If that boy were to take that from her... well, Aya felt that she would be lost as a person. 

 

It was with thoughts of the fair-haired, scarred youth that the raven-haired young woman drifted off into a silent, dreamless, aphotic slumber. 

 

xxx

 

She awoke to a headache. An aching, throbbing headache. 

 

Aya sat up with a strained, pained sigh, her eyes still closed, as though they were a shield from the pain in her temples. She massaged her forehead, trying to relieve at least a bit of the ache. She knew perfectly well what she needed to do, though. 

 

At last, she opened her eyes, preparing herself to stand up and fetch her book from her desk. However, she never got to. Aya’s cobalt eyes widened and her breath hitched at the sight before her:

 

The flaxen-headed boy sat at her desk chair, perusing her father’s former book with half-masted eyes that were shaded with a look of... distaste? He flipped a page, his eyes narrowing further, reading the text by the natural light of the sun, partially grayed out by overcast. 

 

It was all she could do not to get up that very moment, rush over and snatch her precious memento from that boy’s hands. But, she remembered that, as a young lady, she should present herself with more decorum, especially with what was such a delicate situation, even if the boy himself did not realize it. So, with meticulous composure, Aya rose from her bed and stepped over to where the boy sat, enveloped in her father’s book on anatomy. With all the placidity she could muster, she crossed her arms to hide their quivering, and tried her best to ignore her pounding, incessant headache as she addressed the boy, speaking as though chiding a small child instead of someone she knew was older than herself. 

 

“I never said you were allowed to rummage through my things. Please put that down and leave,” her voice was breathy, a not-quite-whisper, barely masking the pain in her skull. Unintentionally, her lips were pursed and her pretty eyes were narrowed in irritation, not because that’s the kind of person she was, but because that pain in her head was just so strong...

 

At once, the boy’s eyes drifted from the book, settling on her agonized glare. The disgust had faded from his gaze, replaced with an unreadable stare, one that immediately set off a red flag for Aya. She knew right away that he would not comply.

 

Her prediction proved correct, in a way. “I was only attempting to understand what you find soothing about such a heinous piece of work, Aya,” he murmured simply. Then, he stood, and looked down into Aya’s widened eyes. Down... It struck her then that the boy had... grown since their last encounter, although he was, by definition, a corpse. Was this an effect of her mother’s power? Or just a mind trick being played upon her by the boy? Either way, it was something she certainly hadn’t expected, or noticed beforehand, for that matter. 

 

The blonde bo- young man (she supposed) continued, “Furthermore, I am not leaving. Not yet. We need to talk, Aya.” Those words sent a chill down the young woman’s spine. They sounded so... cryptic. 

 

Holding fast to her ladylike composure as best she could, Aya cleared her throat. “If you insist,” she began, an odd tightness creeping around the edges of her tone. She was nervous, and she knew that the other had noticed. She didn’t expect him not to. “we will talk, then,” she finished.

 

The young man was silent for a moment. Then, he began to pace around Aya’s room. With every one of his light footfalls, Aya felt a sharp, stabbing pain in the back of her head. Her eyes never left the book he still held in his pale hands as he moved about. The raven-haired young woman unconsciously bit her lip in anxiety. She needed to retrieve that book. But she knew that he would not return it to her easily, so she absentmindedly continued to watch the book, gears in her brilliant mind whirring at top speed. 

 

She was jerked from her cogitation when he spoke again, not halting his pacing route. “This needs to end, Aya.”

 

Aya wasted no time in answering, although her response was rather faint. “What needs to end?”

 

That seemed to set him off. He whirled on his heel, turning to face Aya with unbridled frustration visible in his one amber eye. She was taken aback by this, and took one miniscule step backwards at the sight. It had never occurred to her before that he was capable of becoming this upset. 

 

The youth held up her father’s red book and gestured to it angrily. “This, Aya!” His voice was rife with intense feeling, so much so that Aya was struck with the full force of his thoughts, his emotions. They came rushing at her, and filled every crevice of her mind. 

 

Realization began to sink in, and Aya furrowed her dark brows together anxiously. He was really serious about this. He really did plan on obstructing her path, didn’t he? Yesterday, she’d just tried to convince herself that his appearance meant nothing, and that everything would blow over soon. But she could tell, just by that look in his eye, that he meant business. He would not leave until he’d changed her, no matter how much she protested or feigned ignorance.

 

Nothing, not even the hideous monsters that had haunted her father’s house, scared her more than this sudden, unwelcome understanding. 

 

A look of horror overtook her countenance, and, seeing this, the youth’s eye lost the majority of its intensity. He sighed a taught, wavering sigh and spoke once more. “Do you remember Jean Rooney?” he asked suddenly.

 

Aya nodded, returning to biting her lip, remaining silent. 

 

He went on intensity returning to his voice with each passing word, “Do you have any idea how her family felt after she never came home?” He did not wait for her to answer. “They were devastated, Aya. No, beyond devastated. You ripped another human being from life, from her loving family, and for what? For what, Aya?” This time, he fell silent, awaiting a response. 

 

There was a pregnant pause before Aya managed to stutter out a semi-coherent response. “T-to... to carry on f-father’s work!”

 

He shot her an incredulous, pained smile, if one could call such an expression a smile. “Do you have any idea how you sound, Aya? Do you? If you’re trying to please your father, you’re going about everything the wrong way!”

 

Aya frowned. “If I had wanted to fulfill father’s wishes, I wouldn’t have tried to escape from him back then!” she exclaimed. Her voice softened, she continued. “No... this is for me. I want to keep father’s memory alive.”

 

“Is this how you ‘keep his memory alive’, Aya?!?” he cried. “Do you remember him as a psychopath? A heartless, remorseless killer?”

 

“Shut up!” she screamed. Her eyes had begun to fill with tears for a reason that she could not explain. Could it have been because... everything the boy said was true? No! Of course not, she told herself. He was wrong, wrong, dead wrong...

 

Once she’d felt that she’d regained control of herself, she continued on, in a most uncharacteristically menacing tone. “My father was not a psychopath! He was not heartless! He was a good man! He really was! Everything he did was for the sake of preserving beauty!”

 

He matched tones with her evenly, not conceding in the slightest. “And he did so by murdering the innocent!” 

 

That was it for Aya. Suddenly feeling weary, she sat down in her empty desk chair, and, like a dam bursting, tears began to flow freely from her eyes. “Stop it... stop it... stop...” she murmured, almost incoherently as she sobbed, gripping her own arms as though to stop herself from falling apart. His arguments were piercing her reality, tearing apart what she thought was right, what was okay. And suddenly, she felt a cold, horrible feeling in her chest, one that she hadn’t felt ever before. Was this what remorse felt like...?

 

“Aya...”

 

She looked up with her red-tinted, streaming eyes. The youth’s eye was expressing nothing but sympathy now. There was no anger, no irritation, no ill-will. Only gently sympathy. “Aya... remember what he did to the others. Look at what he did to me. Think about what he wanted to do to you, his own flesh and blood. I know it hurts, but you have to listen to me, alright?” A pause. Aya lowered her head again. The blonde young man continued speaking. “Your father... I know you loved him, but just think, Aya. Think about everything he did. Not to you, but to everyone else: your mother, and all those people. This isn’t the right path to travel, Aya.” Yet another, longer pause. His hesitation unnerved Aya further, but not more so that what he said next. “And you know that too, don’t you?”

 

As much as Aya wanted to react, to yell, to scream, to sob, anything, she found that she was just too weary. Her body would not respond to her commands. The two remained silent for what seemed like an eternity. 

 

At last, when she felt she could move, she looked up to respond to the boy, but instead, she saw that he had vanished. She was alone in her room. She noted with a blank realization that her father’s book, too, had gone, pilfered by the youth for whatever reason. To her astonishment, though, she found that she was not upset by it in the least. She felt... nothing. Unaffected by the loss that usually would have sent her into a panic. And what’s more, she noticed that her headache was gone too. 

 

Perplexed by this, Aya rose from her desk chair and meandered absentmindedly over to a window, shaded by heavy curtains. She pulled them back, allowing the gray morning light to flood into the room. She stood there, staring out into the dreary, quiet outdoors. As much as she didn’t want to, she began to think about the boy’s words. And the more she did so, the more she felt like her whole world was crumbling around her. 

 

What was the truth? What was right? Had her whole life so far been nothing but a lie? Had everything she’d worked so hard to achieve been nothing but a selfish form of appeasement? Who was she, really? Was she really a psychopath? And more importantly, was this the right path for her? 

 

All of these questions flurried about the young woman’s mind until she could stand it no more. Aya leaned her forehead against the window and began to sob uncontrollably. It was all so unfair! What right had this youth to come back into her life, only to destroy everything she ever knew? Who was he to know right from wrong? For all he knew, he could be the one in the wrong here! 

 

But another part of her begged to differ, and the cold, dreadful feeling in Aya Drevis’s chest grew as she realized that now, she was faced with a choice. But he most difficult part of this ultimatum was the fact that she hadn’t a clue whether or not the path she’d chosen was the truth or the mad, mad lie.


	3. Now and Always, Aya Drevis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give to you: the conclusion of The Path of Madness! 
> 
>  
> 
> Although, I will say one thing: Even though I’m planning on stopping the story here, if I end up getting enough people begging me to continue I may or may not continue the story. HOWEVER, until then, this is the end, I’m marking this story as complete, c’est fini, yaddah yaddah yaddah. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, thank you all for your support and kind feedback! That’s what kept me writing ^^
> 
>  
> 
> So, without further delay: the third and (for now) final chapter!

She was cold.

 

She hugged the gray shawl tighter around her slim shoulders as she shivered once more, breath visible in small puffs, drifting and dissipating into the early daytime air. 

 

Had she always felt this frigid inside?

 

She’d been pondering that quite a bit lately, for one reason and one reason alone: the boy. Aya thought for the umpteenth time about how suddenly he’d come back into her life, and how topsy-turvy he’d made it. She knew very well that she’d never be as troubled as she was then if he’d never showed up. A part of her, albeit a small part that refused to die, vehemently blamed him for messing with her head, trying to change her from being the person she wanted to be.

 

Or at least, the person she had thought she’d wanted to be. 

 

As aforementioned, a tiny bit of herself thought that it was all the boy’s fault that she was suddenly so painfully conflicted. But there was an underlying truth, she knew, that she had been at war with herself all along. It had taken her an eternity to realize it, but now, thanks to the boy, she did. 

 

And Aya had never felt more lost. 

 

She meandered about the thinly-wooded area, eyes drifting over the scenery she was too deep in thought to admire. Her tightly-laced boots stepped lightly upon autumn’s dead leaves, as more swayed above with the wind on the limbs of the near-barren trees. Although she enjoyed the warmth and brightness of spring, she also had a deep-seated liking for fall as well. She had to admit, she really did relish in the chill of the autumn winds caressing her skin as much as she did spring’s sunlight. Or at least, she used to. Now, she only associated the once-welcome cold with the same cold that she felt now, deep, deep within her very core. The breezes that had once brought her a semblance of nostalgia and serenity now only reaped doubt and ache.

 

Moreover, she also couldn’t help but think again of the things that the blonde boy had told her in the past two days., as much as that one part of her really didn’t want to. She knew, however, that it had to be done sooner or later. 

 

Overcome by a sudden weariness, she gradually slowed her walk until she’d come to a complete stop and leaned up against a nearby tree. She exhaled, her breath dancing in the chilly air before disappearing altogether. She idly contemplated why she couldn’t just vanish as well. It would have been a lot easier on her if it were possible. Aya sighed again. No such thing could be done, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her problems weren’t going away. She had to do something about them, whether she wanted to or not. 

 

She thought of the boy’s words from the previous morning. A psychopath... A heartless, remorseless killer... That’s what he’d called her father. Or rather, what he accused her of believing. Which was most certainly not the case. Her thoughts drifted to the bespectacled doctor who’d fathered her, and began to really piece together what she truly thought of him.

 

Memories flowed back to the forefront of her mind, and she was brought back to the happier times, the simpler times. The times where she never knew of her father’s plot to transform her into a doll, when she and Snowball would happily venture about together while Father conducted his experiments with the help of Maria. She remembered hating Maria. Yes, she remembered that well. It was a vivid hatred that returned along with the memories, burning and burning away, on however small a scale, at her current views of Maria as little more than an average handmaid, more or less a friend. She banished the hatred quickly, to the best of her abilities, as the last thing she wanted was to cause more trouble. However, she did take note, as she thought of her maidservant, that her eyes were a rather brilliant green...

 

She would look exceptionally breathtaking in a new dress...

 

And her beautiful eyes would serve well forever preserved as glass...

 

...

 

What was she thinking?

 

Aya violently shook her head, hands tightly gripping her sable locks. No, no, no, no no! Her head began to throb and ache, and it took quite some time for her thoughts to settle again. After regaining her senses, she sighed raggedly and fell back against the tree again, forehead chilled slightly by a very slight sheen of perspiration. Why was this happening to her? She’d never felt this way before, but now...

 

It was just so unfair. 

 

None of this would have happened if that boy hadn’t have shown up. She wouldn’t be feeling so lost, so confused. It was all his fault.

 

But then again, she mused, she could go back further. Was it her mother’s fault for sending him? She wouldn’t have been able to if she weren’t dead, though. And she wouldn’t be dead right now if Father hadn’t killed her. So...

 

Was everything Father’s fault?

 

Aya bared her teeth in anger. Anger at herself, mostly, for ever conjuring such a mad, mad suggestion. The mere thought of her precious father doing this to her was inconceivable. No. It most certainly was not his fault that she felt so pained. His beloved face flashed in her mind, and she smiled. But something was wrong. Instead of that light hearted relief she felt when she used to think of Father, now there was only a dark nothingness.

 

She felt nothing for her Father.

 

And in the moment she realized this, Aya felt more terror than she had during the curse, running for her life from the misshapen undead. 

 

Her whole life, she’d been convincing herself that her father was the person she’d loved the most, that he was admirable in every way, and someone she held close to her heart. Then why was it that she wasn’t feeling all the love she’d experienced previously? 

 

Aya’s pale, cold face flushed with rage. It was obviously that boy’s fault! Everything was! If he’d never shown up, none of this would have been happening! She would have been able to continue her father’s work without hindrance! She could have been happy! She could have been happy...

 

Are you sure, Aya?

 

She froze, then untensed herself and scowled. Him again. 

 

You don’t wish to talk to me? That is understandable.

 

Spot on.

 

Regardless, we do need to finish our talk. Whether you want to or not.

 

From the dawn-cast shadows emerged the golden-haired youth, in all his ethereal, undead glory. He was smiling, she noted. Aya’s glower deepened, mentally venting all her hate on him, wishing he’d just die again, just burn up on the spot. And that smile... Who did he think he was? Did he think he’d won or something? That she would just up and throw away everything she’d ever known to be true without a fight?

 

“I never expected you not to fight me,” he stated in that soft tone of his, smile vanishing in favor of a slight frown, as if he were disappointed. 

 

“Stay out of my head,” she growled in a way much unlike the former Aya Drevis. If the boy was taken aback by this gesture of hostility, he did an exceptional job in hiding it. 

 

He shrugged. “As you wish. But therein lies the issue, Aya,” he responded with all the serenity about him as an old-fashioned gentleman, which, she supposed, was appropriate. “Your mind,” he went on, as if he hadn’t made it obvious enough. This only served to fuel her anger at him.

 

“How dare you!” she exclaimed, beautiful features marred with animosity and frustration. “For your information, there never was an issue! Everything was perfectly fine until you came back!”

 

His slightly crestfallen frown immediately grew darker and harsher, an expression on him dawning that Aya was certainly not comfortable with. “That’s not true,” he murmured, stepping closer. Aya pressed her back against the tree, eyeing him with caution. “Just how long are you going to lie to yourself?”

 

She hesitated. “What do you me-”

 

“I mean,” he murmured, getting closer and closer to Aya as he spoke, “you and I both know what the problem is here. And it’s not me, Aya. It’s you.”

 

The young woman gritted her teeth, and felt her eyes well up with hot tears the more he spoke, and the more she realized what he was saying was the absolute truth. She began to shake, falling silent, and mind abuzz with pain and frustration. But still, he kept his same relatively cursory demeanor, and that did her emotions no good, either.

 

“You can’t honestly still think that there’s nothing wrong with ripping people from their families and ending their lives for your own selfish obsession, can you?” he inquired, tilting his head to one side. His shoulders were relaxed, and his tone was relatively light for all the seriousness it carried. His casual appearance did nothing more than rile Aya up even more. How could he appear so nonchalant when he was such a big problem? 

 

He frowned again, deeper this time. For a moment, Aya feared that he’d gone back on his word and looked into her mind once more. But even if he did, to her surprise, his words did not betray it. “Your silence is unsettling,” he commented, adding another item to the growing mountain of things that were infuriating Aya. As if she were the unsettling one.

 

His hands slowly curled into fists, and anger ghosted across his features in small microexpressions. Aya’s eyes widened unintentionally, for she had had no idea he was capable of... anger. Not true anger. Not the kind that drove men to sin. But there he was, obviously at the end of his rope, which she’d formerly just assumed was never-ending. How wrong she had been. 

 

“Answer. The question. Aya,” he spoke in tight, almost cut-off words, accentuating them, perhaps. Aya’s thoughts were tripping over each other, and for a moment, the only things she was able to get out of her mouth were quiet stutterings, as she was still overwhelmed by the fact that this docile ally of hers was capable of such a... human emotion as anger. But wait, she thought. Wasn’t she supposed to be the angry one? Hadn’t she been, until a mere moment ago? How was it that he was able to so easily turn the tables on her?

 

Then, just as his mouth was opening to say something even more beseeching of a response, Aya was finally able to procure a coherent sentence to the question it seemed she had to think years back to remember. Much to the boy’s visible chagrin, it was most definitely not an answer he was expecting. “Mind your own business...”

 

The anger seemed to dissipate, and the boy raised his blonde eyebrows in surprise. A very small part of Aya was briefly diabolically delighted in the fact that she’d caught him off guard. “What?” he nigh-whispered.

 

Her turn to be angry again. Perfect. “I said...” Aya, out of the blue, shoved the boy away from her with all the force she possessed. “Mind your own business!” The boy stumbled backwards, and failed to manage to stay on his feet, falling to the ground with a small noise. His expression was one of unadulterated confusion and hurt, like a kicked puppy. This was probably the first time in her entire life that Aya had ever done this kind of thing to anyone, really. A part of herself felt racked with guilt, a part that she refused to indulge at that particular moment. She was too far gone in her anger. And Holy Powers That Be, it felt good. 

 

And upon her poor victim, she released her emotions, all pent up inside of her head, a most improper cage. The tempest would not be silenced. When she looked upon the shocked face of the boy, all she felt was a seething, unquenchable hatred. He was the reason for her confliction. He was the reason for her suffering and agony. And she was going to rectify his mistake, if it was the last thing she did. 

 

A thought crossed her red-hazed mind, and a grin spread across her ivory face. If only he could have seen that face he was making... That appalled, betrayed, perfect face. Flaxen brows upturned in confusion, shading a single hazel pool of regret and anguish. If only he would stay that way forever. 

 

Forever.

 

And then, overcome with the giddiness reaped by her sudden thought, she began to laugh. And laugh... and laugh. More of a cackle, really. Not a sound any sane person would make. At that moment, she was so out of touch with her true emotions. She could have been angry, or sad, or anything, really, and she would have had no idea. All she had been previously feeling was suddenly blocked out, and replaced with an overwhelming torrent of uncontrollable giddiness. 

 

Was this what Father felt?

 

Before long, she also began to lose touch with her surroundings. Aya’s eyes were locked on the boy, yes, but she wasn’t seeing him. So she did not react when he gathered his bearings and rose from the ground tentatively. She did not see the look in his eye. Despite what he did next, it was not a look of anger, but one of sadness, with a dash of fear and remorse. 

 

Next thing she knew, there was a resounding crack and her head was suddenly jerking to one side. A moment later, a dull pain blossomed on her cheek, turning it a deep red against the pallor. He had slapped her. He had slapped her. 

 

Time seemed to halt, allowing for Aya’s muddled, subdued thoughts to process all of this. While her mind was suddenly kicked into a whirring motion, her body remained rigidly still, her blue eyes staring off into nothing. All while the boy watched. Not that she noticed him at all, of course. Without realizing it, Aya’s eyes began to tear up. Whether this was more of a subconscious reaction to being smacked, or if it was due to the multitude of emotions swirling about her mind, she did not know. Either way, before the first tear fell, she was being hugged by the boy. 

 

As she slowly drifted back to the plane of the mentally “there”, Aya registered a voice. It was most definitely the blonde boy’s voice. What he was saying, she had no way of knowing; his voice sounded very distant. Even his touch, though she was cradled in his arms, felt surreal. Almost as if she were dreaming. 

 

After what seemed like an eternity (but, again, she had no way of knowing), Aya’s eyes slowly opened. She had not registered them closing in the first place, but maybe that was just a consequence of her emotional/mental breakdown. 

 

She was looking up, and focused her doubled vision to see the boy’s face. He looked terribly distraught, she noted. She also noticed that she was lying down, her upper body lying across the boy’s lap. Her first instinct was to try and say something. Anything. However, she was finding it difficult to make any sort of coherent noise at all. 

 

It took a mere moment for her to receive a response to her efforts. “...ya? Aya? Are you alright?” Aya heard his words, but it was as if she had no idea as to their meaning. They sounded foreign, alien. They could have been vulgar death threats and she would have had absolutely no idea. Not that she could rouse the emotion to care, of course. After her little episode, she was beyond spent. All she wanted to do was curl up there, close her eyes, and sink into nothingness. She felt tired beyond words. As unconsciousness beckoned, and her eyelids fell to half-mast, the voice of the boy pierced through again.

 

“Aya! Wake up!” he commanded in a rather harsh tone. Though whether he meant it or not, she couldn’t tell. But she knew, even in her state, that he was dead set on keeping her down to earth by whatever means possible, and she figured that trying to sleep again wasn’t worth the trouble it could potentially cause. So, she slowly, carefully sat herself up and shifted off of the boy’s lap and onto the leaf-littered grass beside him. 

 

“Aya...” he murmured, and at once, everything came back to her: Jean Rooney, her birthday, the boy’s arrival, her father’s book, the question, her answer, begging, yelling, pushing, anger, hatred, burning, laughter, insanity, Father, slap, tears, hugging, falling, falling, falling...

 

And then, she came to her conclusion, once and for all.

 

“You were right,” she whispered. “About everything.” She pulled her knees to her chest and hid her burning face. Words fell from her lips, and although she wasn’t exactly sure what they were, she knew what the general idea was, and that was enough for Aya at the moment. 

 

“Now I’m starting to wonder how long I’ve been crazy. And all those people I’ve killed... I wonder if they thought about that too? Maybe they were thinking, in their last moments, ‘Oh my lord, this girl is a psychopath!’ Imagine what they would have said if they’d known I was trying to carry out Father’s work. They would have assumed that he was a psychopath, too. Which... which he was.” Her throat started to tighten and she felt her eyes brim with an onslaught of tears. “Father was insane. Mad. Out of his mind. And here I was trying to be like him. I used to think he was great. I used to think he was someone I could look up to! But now... now I think I understand.”

 

She was silent for a time, and the blonde boy sat and listened respectfully, even when the shaking of her shoulders or her sniffles and sobs became even more obvious. After a few minutes, they died down. The whole time, he didn’t dare attempt to comfort her. He knew she needed to get this out, and get it out without assistance. She had to do it herself. 

 

“...I never wanted to be this way. I never asked to be. I don’t know how it happened. Maybe it all started with Snowball? I don’t know, I just don’t know...” She looked up at last, staring him in the eye. He was surprised by the intensity in the cobalt pools, the will. “But it’s all over. I can’t do anything about the past, but I know that I don’t want to go any farther down this path. Enough is enough.” 

 

They silently gazed at each other, two eyes staring deep into one, and vice versa. This went on for an amount of time neither bothered to note. But at last, Aya managed a weak smile and uncurled herself. She felt lighter, like a new person. Out of nowhere, she suddenly tackled the boy in an embrace that nearly knocked him onto his back. A moment later, his arms were around her, and they held each other in a comfortable, new silence. 

 

Aya’s mind was abuzz about the future and what it would hold. But one thing she knew: it was the start of a brand new path.


End file.
